I wanna now what is on your mind
You drive me crazy and your lovin' drives me wild

Donít tell to nobody where we was last night
If you do, youíll mess up both our lives

Crazy 'bout you baby, ain't nothing I can do
Crazy Ďbout you woman, I still dream of you

I wanna know, what we gonna do
We both know I canít go on loviní you

I tell you baby, why we have to part
Gotta get you out of my mind, get out of my heart

I wanna know what is on your mind
You drive me crazy and your lovin' drives me wild

The story in I Wanna Know sounds kind of clichť as it shares its topic with a myriad of other blues tunes. However, the roots to this song go back several years, to my affair with a married woman. I remember it as a period fraught with hidden daytime play and guilt-ridden nights. And that is where the clichť becomes a real story again.

Talk about leaving, dream of a distant land
Fly across the ocean, walk in hot desert sand

Just like a gambler, cheating the golden rule,
Sometimes I got lucky, sometimes was nothing but a fool

Everybody loves a winner, stay away from the bad luck man
Want good luck on my side and the ace card in my hand

People tell me time is longer than the rope
It might catch you if you fall, but it might hang you when you run

I woke up one morning, found myself all alone
Blues makes me remember times Iíve done wrong

If I had to choose one unconditional song it would be Bad Luck Man. Sometimes it feels as if this song had been with me all my life. How many times have I tried to dodge the rope, to outsmart intuition and Time? Issues surrounding Time have always fascinated me. I believe most cultures use references to Time in order to encourage and warn us, such as ďbe patient,Ē or ďwhat goes around comes around.Ē Everything I do is somehow bound to Time. Time might be a universal unifier. Alas, its significance is always relative (I believe Einstein is still correct).

Walking in quicksand, take one step at a time
Walking in quicksand, take one step at a time

I believe my baby got someone else on her mind,
Walking in quicksand, doing the best I can

If youíre walking in quicksand, this is what you got to do
For every step you take, you got to give back two

Walking in quicksand, the longest road I know
Been walking in quicksand just to get to your door

You can love me or leave me, anything you choose to do
Ďcause Iím walking in quicksand just to get to you

If youíre walking in quicksand, this is what you got to do
For every step you take, you got to give back two

Walking in Quicksand (or in deep snow for that matter) is a rather exhausting endeavor with little progress to show. As a metaphor it describes certain periods of my life as I was reminded of the steadily running sand in an hourglass. As I grew up without a telephone, I often had to use a neighborís phone: I still remember the small 3-minute sand-timer and my desperation to say what needed saying within three minutes.

Mama killed a chicken, thought it was duck
Put him on the table with his legs sticking up

Mind your own business, mind your own business
Wonít you mind your own business and leave my business be

A nickel is a nickel, a dime is a dime
Donít want no woman when she drinks wine

I might be old and up in years
But I ainít too old to shift your gears

I told my gal, week before last
The gait she had was a little too fast

Front door shut, back door too,
Blinds pulled down, what we gonna do?

Mama killed a chicken, thought it was duck
Put him on the table with his legs sticking up

Mind Your Own Business is a small collection of verses that have been meandering through Time. It reminds me that the blues uses metaphors understood by most people: quite often those were fragments of sermons and/or proverbs. Using metaphors in a narrative invites for interpretation, and, hopefully, transcendence. The challenge is to create a platform that will encourage independent thought, particularly in times that appear to be strangled by the frenzied calls for transparency and more security.

Intersections is an attempt to marry a Swiss mercenary song (Im Aargaeu sind zweu Liebi) with a German emigrant song (Muss Ií denn zum Staedtele hinaus). Both songs are about mobility, and so is the shuffle that connects them. A good example that a compromise challenges every component to giving up a certain amount of its idiosyncrasies: the march ceases to be a march and the shuffle loses some of its dynamics as well. My life often feels like that.

Have you ever been lonesome, found yourself all alone
When everything you try to do seems to turn out wrong

Itís getting late in the evening, when the sun goes down
The moon is rising, dark night falling down

I got worries, thoughts that never sleep
They keep my heart in trouble and my mind thinking deep

Ainít no use in worrying Ďbout things that might have been
The Blues donít care where youíre going, Blues donít care where youíve been

Have you ever been lonesome, found yourself all alone
When everything you try to do seems to turn out wrong

What can I say? In the Evening is not only a classic blues statement; it also relies on my belief that most of us feel that way from time to time. With advancing age my sleep patterns have shifted. Nighttime and sleeplessness create a territory populated by doubts and worries. The felt blues as such doesnít need an explanation.

Every time I hear that whistle blow
Take me back to the days that ainít no more

I walk through the streets alone
Canít find my way back home

Places I long to see
They donít look like home to me

Been here for a great long while
Feel like leaving just one more time

The past is so hard to find
Just like Shadows in my mind

I still remember the first time I didnít feel ďat homeĒ in my hometown of Bern, Switzerland anymore. I thought to recognize people, but they didnít recognize me. Streets and houses were still in their remembered places, but soundtrack to life in the streets and backyards had changed. There comes a point in life when memories are in opposition to the present.

I got a mind to ramble, a mind to stay back home
I got a mind to worry and a mind I call my own.

Some tell the truth, some will tell you lies
They all tell you stories, put candy in your eyes

Bad dreams will worry you both night and day
Wake up in the morning, donít know what to say

I sit and I wonder what might become of me
Do I stay here or move across the deep blue sea

I have been living my life in two cultures. In America I lack my first 33 years (and with that many emotional components of my daily vocabulary), and in the context of my native home of Switzerland my mother language has stopped to evolve. Unfortunately I have never really embraced my American existence. Iíve always thought that one day I would return to Switzerland but this appears to be more and more unlikely. Obviously Moving Across the Deep Blue Sea wonít be a solution to reign in those bad dreams, but I thought Iíd give it a try anyhow.

Ettaís Dance is built on guitar riffs I remember playing behind most of Etta Bakerís dance tunes. How many times did I get lost in her instrumental memories? As I had never seen and played for such dances, I lacked the visual guides through the many repetitions. I remember my insight though: no matter how many old songs I may be able to play, I must wonder whether people would have danced or not? The dance is another form of physical response, maybe the most direct and unfiltered one.

I donít look like I used to
I donít walk like I want to
I donít see what I need to
I donít hear what I like to

Things have changed, yes, things have changed
Things I used to do, I canít do no more

When I was a young man and in my prime
We were together all the time
But things have changed, I done got old
Itís part of living, so I am told

Remember the days, baby, have passed and gone
When I could love you all night long
I can still rock you for a little while
Roll with you, baby, to the beat of time

Eyes are getting old, hair is turning grey
People talking but canít hear what they say
Pains in my body, worries on my mind
I canít find no rest at night

Life is about changes. Some of them are voluntary, others are clearly part of Organic Time and its cycles. Things Have Changed is not intended to be a lament, quite the opposite. I want it to be a rather realistic assessment of my Time.

I have liked Casablanca Tango from the first time I heard Chrigel Burkhard & The Alligators play it. The tune brings back some musical strains from my childhood: the waves crashing around the voice of Hans Albers version of ďLa Paloma,Ē dreams of distant lands, of being torn between leaving and staying.

I got a broken hearted blues every day since you went away
I believe tomorrow gonna be a better day

Iím calling and calling, no one answers me
Iím gonna take all of my troubles, throw them in the deep blue sea

Blues come down like the showers of rain
I believe theyíll be dancing on the windowpane

Got a broken hearted blues every day since you went away
I believe tomorrow gonna be a better day

Broken Hearted Blues serves as a reminder that I am by and large in control of how I choose to express my internal world-view. I am who I say I am. Whilst I heard Etta Baker state ďI believe tomorrow gonna be a better day,Ē James Son Thomasí statement invariably ended up being ďI believe tomorrow gonna be the same olí way.Ē Yes, opposites like day and night.

I walk all night long, my head hung down and cry
Keep me worried, baby, bothered all the time

I remember one freezing January in Washington state. It was midnight. The woman I had been staying with sent me packing because I had cheated on her. She did not allow me to stay until daybreak. As I had to free my car from piles of snow and ice, it took the better part of the darkest hours to shovel and scrape. Whilst I didnít think this to be funny at that time, this story has become one of my fondest memories about ďa moment of learning.Ē Isnít the blues about such instances, really?